Immortals: Knight's Opening
by ImperialGirl
Summary: Sequel to Immortals: Entering the Game. An old acquaintence of Stefan's arrives in town with a score to settle.
1. Default Chapter

.Immortals: Knight's Opening

_by Jennifer Quail_

  
  


When last we met, Genna, a young college student at a Southern university, had just made the startling discovery that she is, in fact, an Immortal. Stefan Krägen, an eight-hundred-year-old veteran of the Crusades, has taken her on a pupil. Using a job as the school fencing instructor as a cover, he has been teaching her the ways of the Immortals. If you don't remember this part, go back and read Entering the Game, the introduction to this series.

  
  


Normal disclaimers--the idea of Immortals isn't mine, the new characters in here are, please ask before posting or linking, yada yada. Now, originally, this would have been

a one-shot story. But to please the impatient among us (Shack, Jeff....) here it is in chapter format. Given that TIE Fighter is out of control, don't hold your breath waiting for chapter two. Sheesh.

  
  
  
  


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Chapter One

  
  


Stefan blinked against the light creeping in through the bedroom blinds. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. The disorientation passed and he knew he was in his own apartment, near the college where he'd worked more than three months now as a fencing instructor, and it was early on a Saturday morning. The nearest Immortal was Genna, and she was a friend, a pupil--not a threat. In fact, he was supposed to meet her today, in only a few hours, to go hiking. At least he called it hiking. Genna referred to it, only half-joking, as Parris Island training trips. He had tried to convince her more than once that the more stamina and strength she had, the less likely she was to end up with her head and her Quickening taken by someone else. Genna, he suspected, was still halfway unconvinced about the whole business. Fumbling across the top of the bedside table, he pulled the alarm clock in front of his eyes.

"_Verdammt_," he muttered, shoving the clock back to the table. "Why do I always wake up before the alarm on weekends?" He had a good hour before he had to be up. Pulling the quilt up a little farther, he turned on his side--

--And snapped fully awake as the sensation came. Automatically his hand fell to the sword at his bedside. Swinging to his feet in a single motion, he started for the door. Genna had a key, but she wasn't any more a morning person than he was. She also would have announced her presence by now. Glancing into the bathroom and finding no one there, he stepped into the living room. His sofa, a chair, and a Medieval print of Crusaders stared mutely back at him.

The kitchen.

Sword in hand, he started for the door, left arm out defensively, right hanging back with the sword ready to swing. He saw the blur of motion coming from the far corner and swung in defensive mode. The blades clashed against each other, and Stefan parried the attack without thinking, driving the other's sword towards the floor in a locking hold. Then he fixed ice-blue eyes on his opponent's face--

"_Gott in Himmel_," he breathed, and couldn't help the smile that crept over his features. For an instant, he was back in the Holy Land, picking himself up off the sand when he should have been dead, wandering a field of the slain, waiting for one of the Moslem warriors to come back and finish the job. Instead, a knight on a red charger had ridden out of the desert heat, dressed in the white surcoat of the Templars, the militant order of the Church that had sworn to recapture the Holy Land, much the same oath all the Crusaders had taken. Stefan had watched the knight approach with some trepidation--most Templars were French, or Italian, or even English--very few Germans. Ideally, they were all on the same quest. Practically, European tensions frequently carried over to the battlefield. As the mysterious, solitary rider came closer, Stefan experienced for the first time the sensation that was now so familiar--the warning that another Immortal was approaching.

The Templar reined in his war horse and dismounted, sword at the ready. Approaching cautiously, he called out toward Stefan, "Hail, Sir Knight!"

English...a language not too far from his own German, but far enough he wouldn't be able to hold a conversation. "Sum miles deum," he stammered in broken Latin-_-I am a soldier of God_. Hopefully, the English Templar spoke the ancient language.

The knight reached up and pulled off his helm, revealing a pair of hooded dark eyes--the same eyes that glinted at him over crossed sabers today, almost eight hundred years later. Stefan, biting back laughter, lowered his Austrian blade. "Tyrus!"

He was not dressed as a Templar now, but there was no mistaking him. "Stefan, how long has it been?" He lowered the broadsword, grin broadening but never touching the dark eyes. 

"Since the Crusades?" Stefan asked. "Eight hundred years. Since we last met? Almost eighty."

"Yes, the War to end all wars," the nine-hundred-year-old knight sighed. "How many times have we heard that phrase?"

"Too many." Stefan eyed the other man. He was dressed in a wool sweater, the style once favored by the British navy, and heavy dark blue trousers, clothing appropriate to the cold November air but not to a pitched sword battle, which even the ever-confident Tyrus had to know he'd face if he challenged Stefan. "I take it you're not here for my head."

Tyrus laughed. "If I was, I wouldn't have stopped that easily. Or I would have lopped it off when I found you wandering in the desert like a madman and saved you eight centuries of trouble."

"I'm glad you didn't," Stefan said. "Please, sit down. Can I offer you tea, perhaps, or coffee?"

"Tea, if it's not too much trouble," Tyrus said, picking up a scabbard from the wooden table against the far wall. "You might want to get some clothes on first."

For the first time, Stefan realized that he was still wearing only a pair of sweats and a thin cotton undershirt--he hadn't bothered to grab a robe, which would only have interfered with his sword arm, anyway. "Oh," he muttered, feeling his face warm a little. "Sorry. I'd better go change." He turned to go back to the bedroom when he felt, for the second time today, the presence of another Immortal.

"Stefan?" Genna's voice. Damn. He'd forgotten completely that she was meeting him here. "Stefan? You awake?" Her key was in the lock before she tried the knob and found it open. She stepped inside. "Stefan, are we still going to the Marbleyard?" Then she jumped, and her hand went to the hilt of the saber in her duffle bag--not really a fighting weapon for an Immortal, but all she had. 

"Genna, it's all right!" Quickly he stepped where she could see him, unarmed, in the room. Tyrus hadn't reached for his weapon, and watched with an amused smile from a seat at the table. "He's an old friend." Stefan placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. To date, Genna's only experience with Immortals other than himself had been when she was attacked by a reclusive Immortal who had lived in the western Virginia mountains near the school. Stefan had been on hand to intervene. If he hadn't, she would have lost her head without ever knowing what she was. "Oh, yeah? How old?" But his hand was calming, and she relaxed.

"Older than I am," Stefan said. "Tyrus, this is Genna Coughren, my pupil. Genna, may I present Sir Tyrus Pattin, Knight of the Temple."

"A Templar?" Genna said even as she extended her hand. "I thought they'd been exterminated after the Third Crusade. Their last leader, de Molay, was burned in Paris in 1314." Stefan shrugged, a bit apologetically, at his friend. He'd forgotten she was a European history minor.

Tyrus's lip twitched. "I'm afraid that's true. As I'm sure you can tell, I survived by virtue of my peculiar situation." He rose and took Genna's hand, pressing his lips to the back of her fingers.

She smiled, arching an eyebrow in Stefan's direction. "Is this how knights are supposed to behave? You could take lessons."

"You'll have to forgive Stefan," Tyrus said, "he is, after all, only a German."

"And the Sachsens came from where again?" Stefan shot back. 

Genna grinned. "I can see this debate's been going on for a long time."

"Eight hundred years, give or take," Stefan admitted. "Since the second Crusade."

"Hm." Genna nodded, then cast a speculative eye over Stefan and his state of undress. "Aren't you a bit cold, Stefan? It iis/i November, after all."

This time he knew his face turned bright red. "Um, how about you get some tea going for our guest and I'll go change." He frowned and looked at her a little harder. "Where'd you get that scarf?"

Genna fingered the dark green and blue tartan cloth she'd tucked over her head rather than submit to the indignity of a hat. "From that Celtic shop in town. Why?"

Tyrus, who had seen immediately what Stefan was looking at, said, "You'd better be careful. Wear that around the wrong Immortal and you could lose your head."

"It's the MacLeod tartan," Stefan clarified. "I'm sure you didn't know that, but you might want to bear the fact in mind. Neither of us has a bone to pick with him, that I know of." A quick glance at Tyrus neither confirmed nor denied that, but it wasn't important at the moment. "Others do."

"I'll be careful." She pulled the scarf around her neck and unbuttoned the short quilted parka she had on. "Tea, you said?" He nodded and started for his room again. Genna let her eyes linger on his retreating back for a few moments before turning and retrieving the teapot from its place on the stove. Tyrus returned to his seat at the table and watched her with dark, brooding eyes. "You met Stefan in the Holy Land, I take it?" she asked as she filled the kettle.

"Yes," he replied, watching her while her back was turned. "I found him wandering around in a state of delirium after a scimitar nearly took his head off. He was lost, confused, and had absolutely no idea what he was."

"Hmh. Not unlike how he found me," Genna commented as she set the kettle on the stove. "Only he had to directly interfere when an Immortal attacked me. For a while I thought he had to be crazy."

"Did he have to kill you to prove it?" He said it so mundanely that she shuddered.

"No." Unconsciously she rubbed her forearm where Stefan had slashed her with a dagger to prove that she would heal far faster than any mortal. 

"I had to come fairly close," Tyrus observed casually. "He was damnably stubborn about the whole business. Fortunately, a few healings were all it took. In a way, I'm glad. Stefan's untimely death would be a great loss to the Game. As I'm sure you've noticed, he's a great hand with a sword."

"I know," she said as she hunted through the cabinets above the stove. Why Stefan couldn't store his cups and saucers where a person of average height could reach them she could never understand. "He's teaching me. Almost a month and a half now."

"Are you any good?"

Before she could answer, Stefan's voice came from the door, "She's coming along." Stefan had dressed himself in a dark turtleneck and jeans, clothes Genna had jokingly named his "climbing gear." What she never said was that the clinging turtleneck and tight-fitting jeans flattered a figure toned by eight centuries of trying to remain in top condition. She hid yet another sigh. Immortal she might be, but she was still twenty years old. And eight hundred though he was, he still looked thirty. "Still young, though. She didn't have the benefit of being a soldier trained with a sword before she died."

"Unfortunate. That's the case in these times, though," Tyrus sighed almost regretfully. "All these young Immortals without the proper training. Easy pickings for old warriors like us, eh, Stefan?"

Stefan smiled, though it was more like a grimace. "Those of us hunting easy heads, Tyrus. Some of us prefer a challenge."

Genna frowned. She was missing something here. Stefan was standing with one hand casually, ever casually, resting on the hilt of his saber. Icy blue eyes, lit with what on first glance seemed friendship, on closer inspection were in fact glinting in suspicion and battle-readiness. Those eyes were the first Genna had ever seen of Stefan, when he'd appeared out of nowhere and confronted the Immortal James McDonnagh on her behalf. They'd held that same look then--not hostility, for she'd never seen him angry, but readiness. Carefully she studied Tyrus, and found the hooded dark eyes studying her in return. She shivered and looked away. The Templar's gaze held fire.

"Not the best way to stay alive," Tyrus observed in response to Stefan. 

"I've done all right." The smile looked sincere. He'd worked on that over the centuries._ All right, you've seen Genna, you know I'm still here. What are you after, Tyrus? _"What about you? How have you occupied yourself since the war?"

"Which war?" Tyrus laughed. "I've been in them all, it seems. Well, not the Russian revolution. Best to let those Mongoloid barbarians sort out their own mess." He sighed almost wistfully. "I've been what you might call a wandering warrior. Sometimes a religious counselor. I am, after all, a knight of the Temple."

"I'd hate to see your patients after you'd counseled them, if your style's the same as it was with me." He stepped to where Genna was still futilely hunting the teacups and, reaching over her head, he retrieved them effortlessly. "You'll be wanting some too, Genna?"

"I prefer coffee, but if you both are having some--" He took the third cup down before she finished. "You two were in World War I?"

"I'm still not used to hearing it called that," Tyrus sighed. "It was truly the Great War."

"Speak for yourself," Stefan snapped, a little more peevishly than he'd intended. "We were in the war, all right--on opposite sides."

"You fought for the Germans?" Genna asked her mentor with a touch of incredulity. 

"Of course," Stefan said matter-of-factly. "I am one, after all. Of course after 1933, I decided that I'd best be elsewhere. Most honest Immortals did."

"You didn't join the Army and fight for the good side in that war," Tyrus pointed out moderately. 

"I wouldn't have felt right, taking up arms against the Fatherland, no matter how evil the men ruling it." Stefan knew he had to chose his words carefully. Silently he cursed Tyrus for ever dredging up the wars. And there were so many....

"Ah, Stefan, ever the reluctant hero," Tyrus said, and there was an edge to his teasing tone. 

Genna turned her back to attend to the kettle, which was showing the faint signs of boiling--the stage at which she preferred it. Stefan like it boiling hot, but she hadn't had eight hundred years to get her mouth and throat accustomed to it. Something about Tyrus Pattin disturbed her. It wasn't just that he was only the second Immortal she'd really ever met, although that was part of it. He smiled and kidded, but there was a glint in his eyes that she did not understand; not a hostile expression but rather calculating. The way Stefan was acting was far from normal, too. She'd known the German sword-master for more than a month and she had never seen him quite so snappish with anyone, or so quick to change moods. Ordinarily he was the most amiable person she knew, a trait she envied. Now she couldn't tell if he was angry--or nervous.

"What brings you to Virginia, Tyrus?" Stefan took the cups Genna offered and extended one to Tyrus. "I thought you usually stayed on the continent these days."

The Templar shrugged. "I was wandering. I'd heard you were here, so I thought I'd stop by and see how my little protege was getting along."

"Not so little anymore," Stefan said, pulling out the chair opposite Tyrus and offering Genna the seat. "It's been eight hundred years, Tyrus."

"And now you're taking on pupils of your own." Tyrus turned an appraising eye on Genna. "What do you think of the Game, Miss Coughren?"

Genna shrugged uneasily, twirling her tea bag on its string. "I don't know." Tyrus raised a dark brow, expression incredulous. "I've only been..." She still had trouble with it. "...Immortal for a month and a half. I'm not even really used to it. Whenever I get a paper cut or nick my finger I still am surprised when it heals. And I've never fought. Not for real." 

"And hopefully won't for a long time," Stefan added firmly. "I had to fight my first duel after three years, and I still didn't feel ready." 

"No one is ever ready." Tyrus's voice was heavy and dark. "Unless you're one who provokes, you never see it coming. It's worst when the attacker is someone you knew." The hooded eyes fixed on the window, staring through the frosted panes into the gravel parking lot that was the back yard. "Someone you trusted."

The drop in temperature in the room was very palpable. Genna could have sworn Stefan's eyes darkened several shades to cobalt, and a faint tinge of color flamed in his cheeks. Tyrus's implacable face didn't change, but the dark eyes seemed somehow more hostile. "Look," she began hesitantly, "if there's something you two want to discuss-"

"It's nothing." Stefan's voice carried a grim ring of finality. "Just an old argument."

"Very old." If Tyrus's voice had changed, she couldn't tell. "Forgive us, Miss Coughren. When you're as old as we are, you'll know what a grudge can really mean."

"I see." She didn't, but it was safer not to ask questions. "You're not going to settle this with swords, are you? Because if you are, I am definitely leaving. I have classes on Monday, and I'd hate to miss them because I was a head shorter."

Stefan laughed, Tyrus smiled, and the tension was broken. At any rate, broken on the surface. "I think we can avoid violence, can't we, Tyrus?" Stefan assured her.

"Great. Then if we're not going to turn this into a bloodbath, are we still going to the Marbleyard today? Because if we're not I have plenty of other work I could be doing--"

"Not go?" Stefan grinned. "Of course we're going." Almost appraisingly, he turned an eye on Tyrus. "Care to join us?"

"Depends on what you're planning. I'm not as young as I used to be." He said the last with a cheerfully sardonic grin. "What's this Marbleyard?" 

"It's a hiking trail that leads up to this rubble field of boulders-like the mountain face caved in on itself and all the rocks got caught up in this pile," Genna explained. "If you stay out of the little crevices this time of year's safe."

"Safe?" Tyrus raised an eyebrow.

"Eastern diamondbacks get easily annoyed when you wake them up from hibernating," she clarified. "I don't want to explain to anyone how I bounced back from a rattlesnake bite."

Tyrus nodded. "Understandable. Rock-climbing, eh?" He stretched, flexing strong arms. "Sounds like fun. Will we need our swords?"

"Is it ever wise to be without them?" Stefan asked rhetorically. "Backpacks are usually better than duffles-hands free and all that." He glared pointedly at Genna.

"If you'd find me a scabbard like yours, I wouldn't need the bag," she shot back. "And if you're going to find a scabbard, you might as well find me a sword to go with it instead of this fencing thing."

"When you're ready for a sword, you'll get one," Stefan said firmly. "Until then I can handle whatever comes along."

"What if you're not there?" Genna persisted.

"Stay close to me and that won't happen," he shot back. 

Tyrus had watched the exchange with a bemused expression. "Shall we go? I'll be interested to see how you two get along when you're _really_ training."

***

The Devil's Marbleyard lay at the top of a moderately difficult woodland trail that wound over a few half-frozen creeks and some narrow rocky outcrops of the mountain. In the spring, the rhododendrons and wild roses would be weighted down with flowers. Now the glossy green leaves of the bushes hung on skeletal branches, and the roses were thorny bramble. Genna had been there once or twice on hikes with school friends, but Stefan's regime made them look like casual strolls down main street. Tyrus didn't seem to be bothered by the pace his former comrade was setting. Genna, muscles still aching from fencing practice the evening before, trailed behind them, letting them banter about the good old days as long as they wanted. If Stefan was talking to his friend, that meant he couldn't engage her in conversation. That meant more oxygen for walking, and she needed it.

"There it is." They rounded a turn and she heard Tyrus whistle appreciatively at the site before them. She didn't bother to look up. She'd seen it too many times before. The Marbleyard rose out of the mountain in a seemingly vertical wall, reaching up into the clear fall sky above the Blue Ridge. 

"Well, we'd better start climbing." Stefan looked over his shoulder. "Hurry up, Genna."

"Right. Sure." Shifting her backpack, more for show than any actual relief, she started for the rocks. The frost covering the ancient stones added a slick layer that made going slow and treacherous. Stefan, as usual, lead the way, seeming to know which routes were suitably challenging but not treacherous. Tyrus went next and Genna, still moving slowly, brought up the rear. The rocks were cold to the touch, and her fingers very nearly stuck each time she touched the bare face of the stone. Ahead of her, Stefan's lead increased and Tyrus seemed to be pacing him easily. With a pained grunt she pulled herself over the edge of a steeply tilted boulder. Her legs skidded along the icy surface. Muttering a curse she stood up and reached for the next ledge. Stefan and Tyrus were already out of sight ahead of her. 

Her fingers jerked automatically at the sudden, burning cold of an ice slick. The spasm sent her arm back over her head. She felt herself begin to fall, and even as she knew she'd survive it she felt the terror grip her--

And a hand, a hand grasping her wrist. She looked up into the dark, gleaming eyes of the Templar. Relief coursed through her. "Tyrus, thank God! Pull me up!"

And he did. . .nothing. They hung there at the edge of the boulder, Genna dangling over the sharp rocks hundreds of feet below, Tyrus silently grasping her arm, the only hold between her and a crushing fall. "What's wrong? Pull me up!" Despite herself, there was panic in her voice. 

Tyrus simply looked at her, the dark eyes emotionless and cold. His grip was powerful, it seemed as though he could hold her like this for days, but as she twisted there, reaching for a hold, he still made no move to pull her to safety.

"Genna? Tyrus?" Stefan's voice, from somewhere on the rocks above.

"Here." Without any other words, Tyrus hauled Genna to the flat surface in a single, strong, motion. Trembling as the adrenalin finally rushed through her in a spasm, she curled against the cold, hard surface of the boulder.

"Genna!" Stefan dropped from the rock above them, crouched beside his pupil. "Genna, are you all right?"

"She very nearly fell," Tyrus said. That was all. But when Genna raised her face to look at her "rescuer," she saw there a dark, cool smile that made her shiver all the more.

***

Genna slashed forward with the saber, aiming at an opponent she could not clearly see through the mesh of the protective fencing mask. Blade met blade and she riposted, changing from attack to defense in a single turn of the wrist. Her opponent switched attacks, trying to cut faster than she could block. He was bigger, and stronger, but she had more stamina. Twelve hours of practice a week beat three every time. He dodged sideways and slashed at her chest. Genna arched her body sideways and parried, deflected what would have been a killing blow. Using the momentum of her dancer's turn, she brought her own blade around and delivered a killing slash across her opponent's shoulder. "Good touch," Robert said, pulling his face mask off. "For a girl, you're not too bad with a saber."

"Nicely done, Genna." Stefan was smiling, arms folded in a gesture Genna had learned was an expression of contentment. Unusual enough for him. "I may actually put you in for our first meet."

"You were going to bench me?" Genna pulled her face mask off and walked to the sidelines where he was watching. "Were you planning on telling me beforehand?"

"And risk having you take my head off with the nearest convenient rusty knife?" He grinned, a feral look. "I was thinking about scoping out the competition in your class first. I wanted to see what you'd be up against."

"Whatever it is, I can handle it. So long as they're not out for my head." Robert was watching the exchange with undisguised confusion, but by now most of the fencing team was accustomed to Stefan and Genna's seeming non sequiturs. 

"Don't be too sure." Stefan would have said more, but the sudden warning sensation drew his attention to the stairs. Genna's saber moved to a defensive position. 

"Just dropping by to watch. No need to point that thing at me." Tyrus smiled that cool smile that did nothing to reassure anyone. Genna lowered her blade anyway. He'd never try to kill them in front of witnesses.

"We have a meet coming up next weekend. Genna's going to be the only woman in the saber division. She's coming along quite well." Stefan tried to keep the pride out of his voice, but he couldn't. He saw the glow that gave Genna and decided that a little praise, once in while, probably wasn't a bad idea. The look on Tyrus's face, on the other hand, made him nervous. He hadn't lied when he'd told Genna they weren't going to fight--he sincerely had no desire to behead his old teacher, but he was greatly afraid it was going to come to that. Tyrus never did anything without a reason, and their last parting had not been on good terms. . . .

_"Tyrus! What brings you out so late?" Stefan had known what brought the Englishman to the deserted riverfront walk along the Thames. Beside him, Anya Iylanova, lovely, black-haired Anya, lowered her eyes. This was to be their last night together before Stefan returned to Germany, now preparing for war against England and her native Russia. _

_"I think you know, Stefan." Tyrus's dark eyes turned to Anya, sad and hungry at once. "Anya, I'm going to ask you this for the final time. Your country's enemy--" and he indicated Stefan with a flick of the drawn sword, "or me."_

_"Tyrus, please." The pain in her low, husky voice broke Stefan's heart. "We never meant for this to happen. Please, don't make it worse."_

_"It's too late for that. This is your decision?" His eyes lowered as Anya slipped her hand into Stefan's and nodded. "Then I'm afraid this is the only way." He raised his sword. "Anya, I would ask you to leave. There's no need for you to witness this."_

_Stefan nodded, fighting the pain he felt at the thought of killing his mentor. "Go on, Herzchen. You don't need to watch." This earned him a hate-filled glare from Tyrus, but his eyes were only for Anya._

_She shook her head firmly, dark eyes defiant. "I'm going to stay." Stefan sighed, but he knew when her mind was made up. He drew his own saber. Her hand caught at his arm. "Stefan, please--don't kill him. For me."_

_Tyrus laughed, a bitter, broken sound. "Don't worry on that account, my _darling," _and he put a horrible bitter twist on the word. "It's your lover for whom you should fear." He leveled his blade at Stefan. "Are you ready?"_

_Stefan would have kissed Anya, but it would only have made things worse. Making sure she was safely at the sidelines, he raised his sword. "There can be only one."_

_Tyrus moved first, feinting left, but Stefan had expected the move and cut low. Tyrus parried and was back on the offensive, swiping at Stefan's knees. The German dodged and this time aimed for his opponent's shoulder, slicing the fabric of his Army coat but missing the muscle. Tyrus's next blow was better-aimed but he used the flat of his sword, striking Stefan across the thigh. Anya screamed. Stefan staggered but recovered quickly. He blocked the blow aimed at his neck and kicked, catching Tyrus in the kneecap. The English knight stumbled and Stefan aimed for the kill. _

_Tyrus had been feigning injury. He stabbed out with his sword, aiming low, and caught Stefan in the hip. The point of the blade tore through flesh and stopped against the edge acetabulum, the depression where the femur joined the hip. Stefan felt his leg buckle but he was powerless to stop it, crumpling to the ground. His eyes found Anya's, dark and pleading and full of tears. Then he straightened, with as much dignity as he could muster. He was an Immortal. He could at least have the dignity to die well. _

_Defiantly, he raised his eyes to Tyrus. "Finish it."_

_Tyrus, his face split between regret and satisfaction, drew back his sword. "There can be only one," he echoed Stefan's earlier words, the mantra of the Immortals. He began to bring down the blade-_

_And a white-clad figure was suddenly between them, and Anya's voice was crying "No!" but it was too late for Tyrus to stop his blade or even change the angle of his swing and all Stefan saw was the cloud of her beautiful long hair swirl before his eyes, and then he heard her wail in agony as the blade cut into her abdomen. He was dimly aware that he was screaming, and Tyrus was shouting her name, but Anya, lovely, very mortal Anya, fell like a broken doll between them._

_He was holding her in his arms, and she was reaching up with bloodied fingers to brush his cheek. He was whispering her name over and over, as if that would keep her alive, but there was blood, so much blood, and these wounds wouldn't heal on their own. Her lips moved, but there was no sound, nothing he could hear, and then her eyes closed and she was gone, gone forever._

_Tyrus was still standing over them, his sword dangling from his right hand. His face was now stark white, his eyes wide and horrified. Stefan stared bleakly up at him. "Well, what are you waiting for? Finish it!" The last words choked out as a sob. Tyrus did not lift the sword again. Instead, he staggered backwards and turned fleeing from them, never looking back. Stefan didn't have the energy to follow. He stayed there with Anya, rocking her in his arms, the tears slipping unashamedly down his face_....

He shook himself. Genna was staring at him oddly. Tyrus's expression was unreadable, but something in the hooded gaze made him suspect Tyrus was thinking of the same thing. "That's quite impressive," the Templar said, eyeing the girl with new respect. "Do you still fence, Stefan? I recall that in Austria you were considered quite good."

They were starting to draw a crowd. The rest of the team had noticed their teacher's lack of attention and were starting to gather around to see what had distracted him. "I'd be a hell of a fencing teacher if I didn't." Tyrus was aiming at something, Stefan could tell even as he answered.

"Care to go a round or two?" 

He hadn't been expecting that. At least, not in front of witnesses. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Genna's face go white. "Why not?" He managed to keep his voice steady. "A little practice never hurt." He watched the other Immortal for any sign that it was more than practice he was after and saw none.

Tyrus produced his own sword from beneath his coat, and Stefan heard the murmurs of surprise from the watching students. He went to get his own sword from his bag, and Genna took the opportunity to grab his arm. "Stefan, does he-"

"I don't think he's here for my head. He's bitter, not stupid." He swung the sword in a lazy arc, stretching a little. "But I wouldn't put it past him to 'accidentally' stab me to death, just so I'd have to explain myself."

Her eyes widened. "You don't think--"

"I don't know," he interrupted. For some reason, the fear in her dark eyes reminded him of Anya, and that he didn't need. "I'll just have to keep him from cutting me."

Tyrus was tapping his foot impatiently. "Are you quite ready, Stefan? No use delaying the inevitable."

"Right." He stepped into the fencing circle and the students backed off a few paces. Tyrus extended his blade and Stefan crossed it with his own. "Just for practice. See how you've improved." Tyrus smiled, but didn't reply. He dropped into an at-ready stance.

Genna was standing beside Brooke, a foil-fencer and her best friend. "Do you think this guy is as good as Stefan?" Brooke whispered. "Imagine having two of them around."

Genna shivered. "One's enough. Stefan, be careful!" Brooke shot her a suspicious glance, but Genna's eyes were on the fencers.

Stefan waited, letting Tyrus be the first to swing. He didn't wait long; the Templar slashed out, aiming for Stefan's neck. He parried easily. Tyrus was playing with him, but he was playing rough. He went on the offensive, making quick, tight slashes that forced Tyrus to focus his defense rather than making big cutting moves. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Genna's face, white and drawn. She sensed the danger---she was learning.

"Genna, stop it! You're going to put claw marks in my arm!" Brook flinched away from her friend's grip. "They're not going to kill each other."

"Are you sure about that?" Genna had seen Stefan fight--had fought him day after day, week after week, and she had thought him unbeatable. Now she could see Tyrus was clearly his match--or more. Her mentor was holding his own, but not much more than that. The cuts were definitely aimed in the direction of the neck, too, enough to worry her. Her breath caught in her throat as Stefan stumbled on the slick tile of the gym balcony and Tyrus, seizing the advantage, drove a slicing cut not down across his torso, as one might expect, but up, stopping with the point of his saber only a hair's breadth from Stefan's jugular. Genna had to choke back a scream, and her nails dug into Brooke's arm.

Stefan found himself staring directly into Tyrus's eyes. The dark, piercing orbs cut into him as surely as the saber would, and for one, horrible instant he was sure he was about to die. The dark eyes held him transfixed, and in their depths he saw the same anger and hatred that had burned there eighty years earlier, not diminished in the least. Then, slowly, Tyrus lowered the blade and offered his former pupil a hand. Stefan ignored it and rose to his feet. "You're as good as ever, Tyrus."

"I've survived this long." Tyrus considered the rejected hand and slowly clenched it into a fist. 

Genna let out a shaky sigh and released her friend's arm. Brooke turned a skeptical eye on her. "What is wrong with you? They were just playing." Then her face softened and she smiled wolfishly. "I could have watched a lot longer."

"Remember what I said about Stefan being too old for you?" Genna asked. "That goes double for Tyrus."

"I never understood that," Brooke sighed. "I think you're just trying to keep the good ones to yourself." Genna was already hurrying to her instructor's side.

"Stefan, are you-"

"I'm fine," he cut her off quickly. Then, more gently, "I'm all right. We were only playing around." Tyrus was watching her too closely. Stefan could see the other man's eyes lingering on the young Immortal and he didn't like it. "It was a good match." He turned and looked at his students, pale and staring with a mixture of awe, admiration and a healthy dose of fear. "Keep practicing and you might someday be half as good as that. Now, I think you ought to get back to work. We're not done for another hour or so."

He knelt and began a careful examination of his blade, fingers searching for any nicks. Genna followed, keeping her eye on Tyrus. "Stefan, he was trying to kill you!"

"Quite possibly." He kept his eyes on his sword.

"And he was good. Maybe even better. . .well, better than-"

"Better than me?" Stefan smiled at her. "Possibly. But I'm faster. Don't worry, Herzchen. He won't kill me, and he won't be coming after you, either. Not if I have anything to say about it." 

"You're the eight-hundred-year old," she sighed, and then her German classes caught up with her. "What did you call me?"

"Never mind." Suddenly he seemed very interested in the blade's edge. "Just stay out of his way. I'll take care of Tyrus." He looked over his shoulder to where the Templar was watching two of the girls working with the epee. "Or, he'll take care of me."

"What?" Genna tugged at his arm, but he turned his attention back to the sword and refused to say anything further.


	2. Part Two

  
  


Chapter Two

  
  


Brook stepped out of the school van ahead of Genna. "I am so nervous! I'll drop my sword in the first match."

Genna swung her bag to her shoulder. "I just hope I make it through mine. Have you seen the other saber fighters? They're huge!"

"Genna, you hold your own against me." Brook hadn't heard Stefan approach, but Genna, of course, wasn't surprised. "They'll be a walk in the park." He looked across the parking lot at the team from Hampden-Sydney, a group of burly males, each easily a foot taller than her. "Well, not a walk in the park, but I could beat them, meaning you should be able to at least have a good showing."

"Your confidence in me is astonishing." She hefted her sword bag. "They're going to leave me in a little broken pile on the mat."

"Don't embarrass me." The tremor that Stefan had come to think of as normal and that Genna was starting to get accustomed to alerted them to the other Immortal's approach. "Tyrus," Stefan said, hoping the irritation wasn't obvious in his voice. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I had to show up and support my old student and his star pupil." The Templar grinned, and as usual the expression was less than pleasant. 

"Thanks for the support." Genna tried to sound pleasant, but she didn't like the tone of his voice. 

"Not at all." He turned to Stefan. "Good luck today." He extended a hand, and Stefan hesitated, just a moment, before taking it. 

"I don't like him," Genna muttered as Tyrus walked away.

Brook shrugged. "He might not be a talker..but who wants a talker?"

"It's not that. He's up to something." Genna started into the gym, following the signs for the girl's locker room. "It makes me nervous."

"Why are you so weirded out? He's gorgeous, and he seems nice. He's as good with a sword as Stefan is-"

Genna dropped her bag and grabbed her friend's arm. "No, he isn't! Don't even say something like that."

"Jesus, it's not that big a deal! What's with you?" Brook pulled away, shoving open the locker room door with more force than necessary. "I swear, sometimes I think you've just got a crush on him, and sometimes-"

"I'm not sleeping with him. It's not anything like that." She picked up her bag and followed. "It's just-you wouldn't understand."

"Why not? What is it with you lately?" Brook pulled her jumpsuit out of the bag and shook it out. "Ever since he got here you've been acting so weird."

"Enough with the weird. Just trust me-whatever you're thinking, it's not it. I can almost guarantee that." She picked up her bag again. "Come on. Let's get changed." Brook stared at her for a moment, as if she didn't want to drop it, and then shook her head.

"Like I said. Weird." And then she followed. 

  
  


Tyrus was in the audience. Even with a larger crowd, Genna would have known. She could feel the hooded eyes fixed on her as she sat with her teammates on the bench. Out in the circles, Robert was getting seriously whipped by one of the saber fighters from Hampden-Sydney. On the all-male school's bench, the guy Genna would be facing turned briefly to look at her with a grin that plainly said, "You're next." She smiled back thinly and returned her attention to the slaughter.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she jumped. Stefan gave her a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine. Don't worry about winning." The smile turned into a teasing grin. "And for God's sake, don't take off his head, even if you get the shot."

She laughed, or tried to. "I'll bear that in mind."

"Relax." The hand on her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze. "You're good." 

"Maybe. But I'm still gonna get my butt kicked." 

He laughed, and she felt a little of the tension drain away. "It'll be a learning experience." His eyes wandered up to the stands, and some of the good humor departed. 

"Don't let him psyche you out," she said, trying to sound teasing. "He's just . . . why is he mad at you?"

"I'll explain some other time, Herzchen." He patted her arm. "Get ready. You're almost up."

"Again with the pet names," she murmured, but she picked up her saber and went to stretch. 

Robert limped, not quite literally, back to their bench. "Have fun, Genna. He's gonna mop the floor with you."

"I'll make him pay before he does." She pulled her mask into place. "Even if it kills me."

"Don't go that far. My insurance doesn't cover that," Stefan called, but he couldn't tell if she heard or not. Briefly, he looked backed into the stands at Tyrus. His former mentor smiled thinly at him, and then pointedly turned to watch Genna. Stefan forced his attention back to the ring.

Genna dropped into an at-ready position, one hand behind her for balance. Her opponent grinned from behind his mask. "Little short for saber?"

"You'll find I'm full of surprises." If he could paraphrase Star Wars, so could she. Hopefully she'd fare better than Luke Skywalker did in that duel-of course, maybe Immortals grew severed limbs back. Then the judges gave them the ready signal and she waited. His first cut was light, testing, and she riposted easily. The second one was high and hard, and she stumbled back, not quite to the edge of the circle.

Stefan flinched, taking the blow with his student. Genna was indeed holding her own, but barely. If this were a fight for her life, not combined to circles and rules, she might be better-she'd shown more aptitude when given free rein to use gymnastics to evade. Trapped in the circle, she was at the mercy of her opponent's superior strength. She stepped back again, almost out of the ring and turned, moving around the edge and forcing her opponent to follow her. That threw him off-balance and she landed a touch. They paused and stepped back to ready, he raising his saber to acknowledge the point, but when they started again his attack was that much more ferocious.

Once again he felt his eyes drawn to Tyrus. The Templar was watching the fight with an amused smile, probably marveling at the irony of an Immortal dueling a mere mortal and losing. Or gauging Genna's skill-as if her age alone wasn't enough to tell him she'd be an easy mark. _Stay away from her, you bastard. It's me you're after. It's me you hate. Don't drag her into this. _As if he could hear Stefan's thoughts, Tyrus turned his gaze to the other man, and the smile became a smirk. He nodded briefly, touching his finger to the brim of a nonexistent cap-_You've taught her well, but not well enough. Not for the mortal, and not for me._

On the floor, Genna stepped back and out of the circle. She raised her sword, ceding the match. He could see her shoulders heaving as she tried to catch her breath, and even from behind, he could see her frustration in the set of neck and head. She didn't look at him-he wouldn't have seen much through the mask, anyway-and she waited for the judges to dismiss the fighters before shaking hands with her opponent and returning to the bench. "He said I was 'pretty good, for a girl,'" she said without preamble, taking her seat. "That shouldn't have been so easy for him."

"You did fine." Stefan placed as hand her shoulder, consoling instead of encouraging this time. "Better than I'd hoped." He crouched down behind, leaning close to her ear. "This is just play. Don't be in too big a hurry for a real fight. That'll come, soon enough."

"If Tyrus doesn't lop both our heads off before we see him coming," she murmured, still trying to catch her breath. 

"We'll see him coming. That's why there's the warning." He gave her shoulder a final squeeze before letting her go-amazing how tense her muscles were, as if she were still ready to fight. He realized then he'd just admitted that Tyrus was here to kill one or both them. "Why don't you go stretch out and get some water? You'll feel better." She gave him a look that said otherwise, but obeyed. "You did well, Herzchen. Next time, maybe you'll even win."

She was walking past the foil fencers as he said that, and Brook, still waiting for her round, shot her a glare. "I took German too. 'Little heart?' Sure sounds like nothing's going on to me." 

"It's not what you think." She kept going, and she didn't dare look at her friend. 

Stefan trudged up the stairs to gym balcony, hauling the last of the equipment bags. They'd gotten back after ten, and he'd taken pity on the dispirited team and dropped them off in front of the dorms with a few kind words about their fourth-place finish instead of making them haul the swords back up to the equipment room. The gym was dark, unusual for this early on a Sunday night, but it did leave the balcony bathed in weird shadows and patches of gold light from the street lamps outside. He dropped the bag, and pulled his own sword free of the others. The silver blade glinted in the darkness, and he gave it a few practice swings, then lunged forward, slashing at an invisible opponent.

"Shadow fencing?"

He'd felt the other Immortal approach, but hadn't turned. He supposed he was getting too used to Genna. She was standing at the top of the stairs, still in her fencing clothes, arms crossed. "I suppose. Limbering up, maybe."

"Planning on fighting someone?" 

"Not particularly." He sliced the air again, and then picked up another sword from the bag and tossed to her. 

She caught it easily, but didn't raise it to fighting position."I'm too tired, Stefan." 

"And if someone comes looking for your head, they won't care." He swung again and this time she parried, then lunged forward, driving him back across the balcony with a ferocity that startled him enough he could barely respond. 

"Do you know what he said? 'Not bad, for a girl!' If I could've done this, he wouldn't have said that, would he?" She slipped a little and Stefan seized the advantage, switching between high and low cuts, pushing her up the balcony and against the wall. Pinned, she kept swinging, a little more erratic now that she was trapped.

He batted one of her thrusts aside and used the momentum to pin her sword arm against the wall and brought his sword up to rest against her throat. She let her own saber fall to the floor. "I told you not to expect to win the first time."

"The first time against mortals," she corrected. She was still breathing heavily, from the fight, adrenaline, he wasn't sure. In the dark, her pupils were dilated, making her eyes almost black. "I think I won this one, though."

"Really?" He let the flat of the blade press against her neck. "How do you figure that?"

She reached up slowly and pushed his sword away, then let her hands fall to her sides. "Just a feeling I have." For a moment, she didn't move, waiting for . . . something. Her breath was still coming quickly, her lips slightly parted.

Stefan hesitated, just a moment. Then he dropped his own sword and reached for her. She met him halfway, her hands resting on his shoulders as he bent his head and covered her mouth with his. She met the kiss more enthusiastically than he'd expected, and he tightened his arms across her back, pushing her back against the wall. He shifted his attention to her neck and she gasped. "God, Stefan . . . ."

"We shouldn't," he murmured. Her skin tasted of sweat. "Genna . . . we need to stop, think." 

Bracing herself against the wall, she wrapped her legs around his waist. "I'm thinking, really." She nipped at his ear and he groaned. "I'm thinking very hard."

"Genna, please!" He wasn't certain any more whether he was asking her to stop or to continue. Her mouth found his again and he forgot about thinking. 

There was a sound on the stair, but neither paid attention-there was no warning of another Immortal's approach. Then, a voice called, "Genna? Are you finished up here? Genna-oh, my God . . . ."

Stefan turned, and Genna got her feet back under her, stumbling as they faced a stunned Brook. She was standing at the top of the balcony steps, and the expression her face was a mixture of horror and betrayal. "Brook, wait. It's not-"

"Spare me, Genna. I know what this looks like." Her friend spun around and ran down the stairs.

"Oh, no." She looked at Stefan, whose face was a mixture of guilt and embarrassment and-hunger? "I should go after her."

He nodded. "Yes, probably. Genna, I don't know what-"

"We can talk later. If you want to talk. Or . . . whatever." She hesitated, looking after her friend. 

"Or whatever," he echoed. He watched as she turned and ran after Brook. Did he want to finish what they'd obviously been starting? To his surprise, he found that he very much did. It wasn't as though there would be long-term consequences, at least not physically-as an Immortal, she couldn't conceive, even if he had been able to impregnate a woman, and neither had cause for concern when it came to diseases. Emotionally, though . . . he'd seen so many other Immortals in the same position, and it altered their lives in numerous ways. None the least of which was that one, overriding code of Immortal life: there can be only one. It was one thing to love a mortal, knowing you'd eventually lose them to old age, disease, violence, simply, petty accidents. It was quite another to know that one day, you or your lover might be the instrument of the other's destruction.

He shook off the thought and gathered up their swords. Regardless of any . . . feelings they might be experiencing, he was Genna's teacher and she was his pupil. Anything more could put them both in danger. Immediate danger from Tyrus, particularly. The older Immortal was planning something, that much Stefan knew. And, if past performance was any indication, he'd direct his vengeance at Genna. Especially if he thought she was more to Stefan than a student.

  
  


Genna sprinted down the steps and out the door after her friend. "Brook! Brook, wait, please!" She spotted her friend turning to stalk across the footbridge, almost running. "Brook!"

Brook stopped and spun around as Genna caught up with her. "So nothing's going on with you? It sure looked like it up there."

"Brook, I swear, it just happened. We were fencing, he pinned me to the wall, and the next thing I know, we're kissing. Neither of us meant for it to happen. It just did."

"Sure, Genna. Whatever you say." Brook turned and kept going across the footbridge. "I don't know why you think you have to lie to me."

"I'm not lying! Brook, please." She was running to keep up.

"You had your legs wrapped around him. What am I supposed to think was going on? You know, I don't even care that you're doing him. I'm just mad that you thought you had to lie about it. I thought we were friends!"

"We were! I mean, we are! There was nothing to tell you about, before tonight." The sense of another Immortal made her pause a moment, glancing behind her, but she saw no one approaching. Immediately, an uneasy feeling began in the pit of her stomach. "Brook, hang on a minute."

"What now?" Her friend's arms were folded across her chest and she was still glaring.

"Someone's watching us." She turned slowly, searching the shadows of the bridge before it dawned on her what was wrong. The lamps that lined the bridge should have been on. They weren't. "Brook, run back to the gym. Get Stefan. Tell him I think something's wrong. He'll know what I mean, just hurry."

"Genna, I am not running your errands-"

"Damn it, Brook, do it!" 

Brook stared. Something had happened to Genna-her eyes were dark and piercing, and there as no trace of humor in her face. "Okay, I'll go. Genna, what-"

"Don't ask questions, just run." Tyrus was here. She was sure of it. The question was where, and what he'd come for. The uneasy prickling of the hairs on her neck said that she knew. Brook was running for the steps back up to the gym, for once not asking any more questions. 

There was a rustle of cloth and Genna whipped around, to find herself facing Tyrus. For an instant she wondered wildly if he could fly, but then it dawned on her that he had simply jumped up and over the railing of the bridge-he'd been following her and he'd inched along the far side, hanging by his fingertips until he'd been behind her. 

And he had his sword. 

He'd drawn it from the scabbard across his back and he was swinging it in lazy arcs, one-handed, easy. Genna began backing away, wondering if she could get around him without risking her head. She feinted, and the blade came up fast enough to take care of that idea. 

"What do you want, Tyrus?" she demanded, keeping one eye on his face and one on the sword. 

"To make Stefan feel like I did, eighty years ago. I promised myself then that one day I'd destroy something he valued. You seem like a good place to start."

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

"You don't need to. Stefan will. That's all I really care about." He slashed at her and she jumped back.

"I don't have a sword. This isn't a fair fight." Where was Stefan? Maybe Brook had changed her mind, maybe he'd left, but if he didn't get here soon, she'd be in a lot of trouble.

"I hadn't planned for it to be. I'm sure Stefan's told you that not all of us worry about fighting fair." Another serious cut, this one striking the stone rail and throwing up a cloud of sparks. "And if it makes him angry enough to fight me, so much the better. Two Immortals is too much for any town."

Genna dodged again, trying to slip by and run for the steps, but he was too fast for her. _Stefan, where are you? _


End file.
